


Choices

by magista



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-24
Updated: 2002-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magista/pseuds/magista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Riley returns, Buffy has to decide what she really wants in her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> 13 July 02 - Well, this is a big blast from the past. I wrote this months ago, in the few weeks before the episode "As You Were" where Riley returns, because I knew I wasn't going to like how it went. I suppose that makes it all AU now, but I thought I might as well post it and see if it garnered any comments. It just took me a while to get around to coding it to post. There are some things I'd probably do differenlty if I wrote it now, but I love the poems that I found to go with this story. It seemed right, when writing about Spike.
> 
> This story is set only a few weeks after "Wrecked", and goes AU immediately as I assume "Gone" etc. didn't happen.  
> 

Spike slipped quietly through the door from the alley into Buffy's training area. The Slayer was going through a series of combat moves, and he paused before speaking, enjoying watching her performance. "Slayer?" he asked at last, since surprising her with his sudden appearance would be a good way to guarantee a flying kick.

"Spike," Buffy said, acknowledging his presence while continuing her workout. After a few more minutes, she brought the pattern to a close, then grabbed her towel off the pommel horse, wiped her face and hung the towel around her neck. "Spike, I need your help."

"What is it, love? Some new big nasty in town? Don't you want to summon all your Scooby mates too?"

Buffy shook her head. "No - I'm sorry, I didn't say that very well. It's about my training -"

"Looked to me like you were doing a good job, pet. Very . . . supple," Spike suggested, with raised brows. "Poetry in motion, and all that." He moved to a bench at the side of the room and made himself comfortable.

"Mind on the job, Spike. You'd think I looked good if I dressed like a nun."

"Never had a nun. Afraid they might be habit-forming." He looked up from his seat in time to catch Buffy's wince.

"Don't quit your day job. Can we get back to the topic?" He smiled and waved his acquiescence. "You probably know that I've been around a lot longer than most Slayers. And as I've gotten older, I've gotten stronger, too. These last few months when Giles was still here, he wasn't able to help me with my physical development anymore. I couldn't risk hurting him. It was mostly mental training - meditation, philosophy, techniques to focus my strength . . ." Her voice trailed away. "God, I miss him sometimes."

"So what you're looking for is a sparring partner," Spike ventured, to keep the conversation from becoming too morose. "One who can take what you can dish out, and fight on the same level. And I should be grateful for the opportunity to take some lumps just so I can bask in your presence." He snorted laughter. "You've got some interesting ideas about me, ducks."

"But I'm not wrong, am I?" Buffy asked. "You will do it?"

 _No, you're not wrong. Couldn't be another vampire more Slayer-whipped than Spike._ He sighed. " 'course I will. Let's do it then. All out, right now, and let me see what you've got. But don't let's bring this building down round our ears, too," he said with a grin, rising to remove his leather duster.

Buffy wasn't entirely sure that it was sparring he was talking about anymore. At least, not the kind she had in mind. "Right now? I'm already kind of tired-"

"Oh, by all means, remind me to tell all the local boys to wait until the Slayer's had her beauty sleep before they come 'round," Spike sneered. "Of course, right now. Unless you've decided that this isn't something you want to do after all."

"No, I -" _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Why can he always make me feel so awkward? I know I'm good at what I do._ "All right. Best of three falls. This shouldn't take long," she said, with a flash of her old fire.

"That's my girl," grinned Spike, as he rushed her.

"Not . . . your girl," gasped Buffy, as she twisted to avoid him, landing a kick in his midsection that sent him sprawling. "One!" she cried, watching him fall, then added, "Maybe your worst nightmare."

"More like my best dreams, pet," he replied, getting to his feet and circling warily for his next attack.

They both put words aside for some time. The second and third falls took much longer, until finally Buffy stood with trembling muscles, waiting for Spike to get up from the last. It had felt so good to be able to go all out, to actually feel challenged in a fight.

The cocky vampire was on his feet again in moments. "Feeling better now, love? Nothing like a good scrap to get the blood flowing."

"Yeah," she agreed breathlessly, pushing sweat-damp hair back from her face.

Spike took advantage of her raised arms to slip his own arms around her waist and pull her to him. "Speaking of . . ." he smiled invitingly.

Buffy dropped her hands to his arms, running them along the bare skin, then tensed, trying to push him away. "I don't . . . can't," she stammered, but her body betrayed her by curving against his.

"You know you want to," he whispered.

"No," Buffy murmured, but her traitorous hands had already tugged his T-shirt loose from his jeans and were exploring the strong muscles of his back. His skin was cool and smooth, and once again she reflected on just how unfair it was that he would never break a sweat.

Spike pressed one hand into the small of her back to hold her tightly against him. The other hand wound into her hair, gently pulling her head back and bringing her mouth up to his. His kiss was gentle and tender and sweet - everything that they hadn't taken the time for that night in the ruined building. Buffy felt his tongue tentatively brush her lower lip, and opened her mouth to greet it with her own. Tingling warmth began to build in her belly and she felt as though she was coming fully alive in her skin again. She returned his kiss with growing intensity, moaning her need into his mouth. _Please, I just want to feel . . ._

"I see I'm interrupting something." Buffy jerked out of Spike's embrace and turned to face the door into the shop.

A figure stood in the entranceway. Tall and broad, with close-cropped hair, dark eyes and a scar that twisted down one cheek.

"Riley!" Buffy exclaimed, taking two steps forward before coming to a sudden halt.

"Well, if it isn't Captain Cardboard, returned from his adventures at last," Spike ridiculed. "What's the matter - run out of monsters to torment in South America? Had to return to good old Sunnydale?"

Riley continued as though Spike wasn't even there. "Buffy, I'm just passing through, making my report. I hoped . . . we might have some time to talk. Alone," he said, finally glancing at Spike.

"She doesn't need to talk to you, sport," Spike replied, coming up behind Buffy and placing his hands on her shoulders.

Buffy turned in his grip to face him. "Spike . . ." she whispered. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were harder and colder than she had seen in some time. He stared at her as though nothing else existed in his world.

"I'll do it because it's you asking it; not for him," he replied to her unvoiced entreaty. Taking hold of her more tightly, he pulled her forward and kissed her resolutely. "I love you." _Don't let me lose you now I've found you_ was what he meant.

"I know," she admitted, so softly that only his ears would have heard. "But go."

Grabbing up his duster, Spike stalked past Riley and back into the Magic Box. Only the greatest effort let him shut the door without slamming it.

It took some moments after the door closed before either of them could speak.

"You look good," Riley said at last. "Maybe a little too skinny now, but good."

"Um, thanks-I-think. You too, except . . ." Buffy's hand fluttered near the scar on his cheek, not quite willing to touch his face. "What happened?"

"Don't have quite the reflexes I used to," he grimaced. "Zigged when I should have zagged. It doesn't matter." Riley reached to take her hand, but only held it for a moment. "I was hoping that we could clear things up between us - maybe even try to start over - but I guess I'd be wrong."

 _Oh Riley, you have no idea. If you thought it was too weird and messed up before, now - I may not even be human any more._

"What is this thing you have for vampires, Buffy?" he asked at last in a pained voice, when she didn't reply.

"Thing? What thing? Definitely lacking a thing, here," she said, defensively.

"First it was Angel - okay, you were young, and you fell for him before you knew what he was. Dracula . . . had that weird thrall thing going. But Spike? He's tried to kill you, several times - and now you're making out with him?"

"It wasn't like that-" _Yes, it was._ "A lot has happened since you left."

"Obviously."

Buffy's patience, already thin, snapped. "Well you weren't here to find out, were you? You left. You told me I had a day to decide, and then you went ahead and left. You never wrote, or called-"

"It was a top secret operation-" he protested.

"-for over a year," she continued, not willing to let him get in a word. "You have no idea what I went through. And now you're going to stand there and tell me that the decisions I made to survive were all the wrong ones? Thank you, Mr. Ego."

"Buffy . . ." _This is going all wrong_. "I'm sorry. I do want to know what's happened to you. Maybe if we go your place, your mom would make us some-"

"My mom's dead, Riley," Buffy said flatly, her voice cold as the old, familiar pain filled her once again. _Will there ever be a day I don't think about her and feel so lost_? "Not long after you left. Unusually for Sunnydale, it was from natural causes - brain damage from her surgery."

"Oh god, Buffy, I-" he began, but Buffy continued, unheeding.

"Spike helped me. Looking after Dawn, finding ways to fight Glory. He let her torture him nearly to death rather than let her know Dawn was the Key she wanted.

"I died too, you know. No," she said, holding up a hand to forestall his reply. "Not like with the Master. Not just a few minutes until Xander could revive me with CPR. When we finally stopped Glory, I was dead. Buried in the ground, fancy headstone, _rotting-in-my-coffin dead_!" she shouted. Unbidden, Spike's low voice rose in her memory: _One hundred forty seven days yesterday. Ah, one hundred forty eight today. Except today doesn't count, does it?_

"He stayed all summer, fighting, watching over Dawn, until Willow brought me back." _To hell. Where I'm trying to live again, one day at a time._

"Listen to yourself, Buffy. You're defending a vampire. A demon. He's evil, and you probably should have destroyed him long before now."

"Spike's not-" she struggled for words that could properly describe her dearest enemy. "He's done a lot of good."

"Did you sleep with him?" Riley asked bluntly. "A gratitude fuck, because you needed to thank him somehow?"

 _Images of intertwined bodies, cool hands and lips on fevered skin, a rush of sensations and emotions I thought I had lost forever . . ._ "That's . . . none of your business," she stuttered. _It's more than that . . . it has to be._

"What do the others think?" When Buffy didn't reply, he continued wearily. "I see. You haven't told them. You know it's not right. He only hangs around because you're giving him what he wants. And it's not like he could survive anywhere else, now."

"You're wrong. He loves me."

"Do you love him? Did you ever really love me?"

Buffy turned away, unable to answer.

"If it weren't for that Initiative chip, he never would have had to join you. You say he's changed. I say he'd revert in a minute without the chip," Riley challenged.

"Easy enough to say, since there's no way to change things. Or . . ." she turned back, curiosity triggered by something in the tone of his voice, "do you know something about the chip you didn't before?" _Is there a reason he can hit me now? Is it just the chip and not me? God, what have I been doing?_

"It wasn't designed to be removed, if that's what you mean. But it can be modified - its programming altered - by some types of external stimuli," he admitted.

"Even turned off?" She had to know.

"Possibly." Another long silence threatened to overwhelm them. "Are you going to tell him?"

"I - I don't know," was all Buffy could say.

"You know you can't really trust him." He handed her a slip of paper. "Here's the number of the place I'm staying, though I don't really expect you to call me. I just hope you're not making a mistake." Riley paused at the door for one last look back. "Goodbye, Buffy."

"Xander," Anya whispered, "how long is he going to stay there?" She indicated the stairs to the shop's upper level, where the blond vampire had been standing for the last ten minutes. Every now and then he would glance toward the back door, frown, and light another cigarette. She had taken him a small enameled dish to use as an ashtray after he had butted out the first one on the staircase. Now the dish was in danger of overflowing.

"I don't know, An," Xander replied finally. "From the looks of things, he's got it bad - not that I'm feeling all that sorry for him, or anything" he said, off her startled look. "After all, Buffy doesn't need that sort of hassle right now - or ever. Still - just an observation."

Their conversation was interrupted when the back door opened and Riley strode out again, looking grim.

"Doesn't look like anyone's having a good night," Xander said.

"Riley, wait!" Buffy called from the doorway.

"I don't think we have anything left to talk about right now," he said, not even turning around. Buffy's face crumpled.

Spike came up beside her and laid one hand on her arm. "Buffy-" he began. She knocked his arm away and whirled to face him.

"Don't _you_ start now. Just - stay away from me."

"I'm not going to-"

"I mean it! If I see you out there tonight I'll stake you myself. Now get out of my way!"

Spike was too stunned to do anything but just watch her rush out of the store pursuing Riley. "Fuck," he said softly at last, under his breath, then stalked out himself.

"Welcome to another episode of 'Buffy's messed up love life'," was Xander's only comment.

**********

 _She who is always in my thoughts prefers  
Another man, and does not think of me.  
Yet he seeks for another's love, not hers;  
And some poor girl is grieving for my sake.  
Why then, the devil take  
Both her and him; and love; and her; and me._

"Give us another, Willy. And leave the bloody bottle, this time." Spike dropped a wad of bills on the bar, not bothering to count them out. _When all else fails, get drunk. Just to forget for a while._ He tipped the refilled glass back, feeling it chatter against his teeth, and let the bourbon burn down his throat. Grabbing the bottle, he poured himself another, and drank again. _Soon I won't bother with the damn glass_. He staggered over to a booth in the darkened recesses of the bar.

She'd started coming to him, talking to him like he was a person and not a thing - and it only took one bloody visit from soldierboy to undo all the work of his patience. _Love really does make you stupid, if you thought she'd stay with you, Spike. What the hell can you offer her? The chance to be like you? What a prize._

 _. . . She called me her fantasy  
And boldly she kissed me  
I'll never get over the sheer surprise  
Of her acting that way  
And I'm healing okay  
But for the eyes of her . . ._

Night wore on into the early hours of morning. Spike nursed his bottle grimly, not able to afford another, and amused himself by watching the other patrons. The regular mix of demons, vampires and desperate humans came and went in Willy's Bar, all pursuing something they couldn't find. When someone did stride in with some purpose, the stares and the hush in the boozy conversation was usually enough to convince them they were in the wrong place. Except for this latest one . . .

"All hail the conquering hero!" he slurred in recognition. "Come to gloat over your fallen opponent? Or just to see if you can pick up another vampire bint for some fun and games?"

"Hello, Spike," Riley said as he approached. "I must say I'm not at all surprised to find you here like this."

"So glad I didn't disappoint you, then." Spike's nostrils flared, knowing he was tormenting himself but still unable to stop seeking the oh-so-familiar scent on his rival. He found . . . nothing, and nearly chortled. "So she's given you over too, has she? First damn bit of sense I've seen out of her in some time. A toast," he said, suiting actions to words. "To cruel bitches. They'll let you between their legs, but never into their hearts."

His drink spattered across the front of his duster and the glass smashed on the floor as Riley grabbed him, thrusting him roughly against the wall.

"Don't. Ever. Talk about. Buffy. Like that. Again," he grated, pounding Spike into the wall with each phrase. "I told you once - if you ever touched her, I'd kill you. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you here and now."

Spike growled and let his demon face descend, pushing Riley back against the table. The bourbon dulled the pain just enough to let him get in one punch before he doubled over, clutching his head against the white-hot agony that erupted there.

"Just your speed, innit?" he panted, as he tried to recover. "Attacking someone who can't fight back. Bloody Initiative pansy. Take yourself off and let me get drunk in peace."

"She didn't tell you, then," said Riley, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I thought you were here to celebrate your return to a life of destruction."

"What?" He couldn't think straight, the combination of alcohol and pain blanked out his thoughts - but it seemed as though it was Riley who looked confused. "Tell me what, you bastard?"

"About the chip. About the possibility that it could be deactivated."

"Is that so?" Spike hissed, each word now an icicle of clarity. "Do tell me more."

Buffy's sleep that night was restless. In her dreams, Riley and Spike had each taken hold of one of her arms and were tugging her back and forth between them, slowly pulling her apart.

"Bitch," spat dream-Spike, and she sat up suddenly in bed. That hadn't been a dream voice . . .

Spike perched precariously on the sill of the open window like a large black bird, looking in at her.

"Spike, what the hell are you doing here?" she asked, annoyed, rubbing sleep from her eyes and grateful she had chosen to wear pajamas that night. "It's what - three in the damn morning? What do you want?"

"Sanctimonious bitch," he repeated venomously. "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"Tell you what? I have no idea what you're-" she stopped abruptly as memories of the evening's events flooded back into her sleep-fogged brain.

"Oh that's right. Now you remember. Turns out there's a way to deactivate this hellish chip in my head, and you were going to keep that news to yourself. You don't trust me."

"Of course I don't," she snapped. "Because look how well you dealt with finding out it didn't stop you from hitting me anymore."

Spike stepped on unsteady feet into the room. "Buffy, please. I'm in love with you . . ."

"How can you love me without a soul, Spike?" she asked in low, level tones. "Explain that to me."

"If I do this, and I prove to you that you can trust me-" he pleaded.

"It's not the same."

"I say it is. Ever see a soul?" he demanded. "If the result is the same - if I don't kill - then the reason shouldn't matter."

"You already don't kill, Spike," Buffy pointed out. "Why would I want anything to change?"

"Damn it, Buffy," Spike pleaded with her. "I have to try. Let me be a man for you, not some dog you keep on a choke collar." _You'll never love me if that's how you see me._

Buffy tried with only some success to steel herself against the agony she could hear in his voice. "I don't think - I'm afraid - that if you couldn't control it, I'd be responsible. Then I'd . . ." she couldn't finish.

"What if I only drink a little . . . but leave them alive?" he offered in a small voice.

"You mean you'll start your own blood brothel, like the place . . . Riley went? She had trouble saying his name. "That's sick, Spike. I can't let that happen. You'd be just another vamp for me to deal with."

"I know you feel something for me," he said. "You couldn't."

"You're forgetting, Spike. I've done it before," she said coldly. "You're the one who's kept telling me these past few weeks that I'm strong enough to survive, to do the things that have to be done. I would. The minute you're a threat again, I'll come after you - and there'll be nothing more between us."

"Are you saying there might be something now?" He looked up, his eyes full of sudden hope.

"I - I don't know." Buffy turned away and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "But there couldn't even be a possibility if-" A sudden breath of air made her spin back to the window. Spike was gone.

The determined hammering on the motel room door woke Riley from a deep sleep not long before dawn. Immediately alert despite his lack of sleep, he rolled from the bed clad only in his pajama bottoms, thrust his feet into his shoes and crossed to the door. He opened in to find Spike silhouetted against the sodium glare of the lights from the parking lot and the lightening sky that heralded sunrise.

"Invite me in," Spike demanded, "it's almost dawn."

"No, I don't think so," said Riley, as he moved to close the door again.

"You said you'd help me," Spike cried in protest, slamming one hand into the barrier. "That you could turn this damn chip off!"

"You're still half drunk," observed Riley. "I said that there was possibly a way to do it, not that I would - and in any case, do you really think I carry that kind of equipment with me?"

Spike's fists pounded the doorframe until it rattled and threw his head back in frustration. "What the hell do you want me to do?" he begged. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want . . . ?" Riley began. _What I want is for Buffy to put a stake through your heart and end this farce. That's what I want. But as long as she feels grateful to you, or sorry for you, she'll never do it. She has to see what a threat you really are._ He looked at the bedraggled and hung over vampire in the doorway before him and coldly reached his decision.

"Meet me at sundown at the medical school, basement level," he said. "Don't tell anyone where you're going - and I'll see what can be done. That is," he added scornfully, "if you manage to get yourself undercover before you get fried." Lifting his chin, Riley indicated the sunlight just beginning to spill over the horizon.

With a hoarse cry, Spike lunged for the manhole cover in the parking lot, jerked the cover free and plunged down into the safety of darkness.

Riley shut the motel room door slowly and deliberately. _Now on to phase two_ , he thought.

Buffy had dialed the number three or four times so far that morning - and hung up every time before it could ring. She hadn't managed to fall asleep again after Spike's visit, only to lie awake restless and full of questions. The lack of sleep had left her clearly out of sorts; she had gotten into a screaming match with Dawn when her sister was too slow getting ready for school, and had practically accused Willow of using witchcraft to make breakfast.

 _Oh for two so far this morning_ , Buffy mused. _Why should this be any easier_? She picked up the receiver again.

Buffy had decided that neutral ground was the best choice, so she arranged to meet Riley at the coffeehouse. _Besides, I definitely needed the caffeine_ , she decided, cradling an extra-large mocha. It was easy to tell when Riley arrived by the fluttering among the female staff and customers. _Was I ever that young_? Buffy wondered. _Back when life was relatively simple and I hadn't been dead for a while, maybe._ Besides, he stood head-and-shoulders above most of the crowd, making him easy to see.

Buffy waved him over to her table. She was surprised to see him in his full uniform, not fatigues. _No wonder the birds were all a-twitter this morning._ "What's all this?" she asked, curious about the change.

"I told you I was just passing through, Buffy. I've been reassigned. I'm leaving tonight."

The sense of déjà vu made Buffy's skin tingle. To distract herself from her memories, she plunged ahead with the one question that had plagued her for most of her sleepless morning. "Spike came to see me last night, Riley," she said, not admitting that it had been in her bedroom in the middle of the night. "He knew about the chip." She paused for a fortifying sip of mocha before continuing. "I didn't tell him, so how did he find out?"

"He was right outside the door yesterday, Buffy," Riley replied. "You know what vampire senses are like. He probably overheard us - since we weren't being all that quiet, you may remember." Riley took a moment to wave over a server and order himself a coffee.

"Maybe," Buffy mused. "Or maybe he heard it from someone else." She tried not to make it come out as accusing as it sounded in her head. Riley and Spike had carried on quite the rivalry over her last year, something that had never actually been resolved when Riley left. Sometimes the macho posturing going on had made her wonder if Willow and Tara hadn't had the right idea all along.

"Are you accusing me?" Riley asked. "Why would I want to see him become a killer again? My whole career has been devoted to destroying monsters like him."

"Did you tell him?" she asked, point-blank.

"I can't believe you're sitting there asking me that!" he said, indignantly. "You know how much I loved you - still love you - how can you think that of me? I only want you to be happy."

"You can't order me to be happy, Riley." Buffy replied forlornly. "Or make me feel any more guilt about letting you leave than I already do, in order to get me back. That's no way to build a relationship," she said with sudden insight, "trying to make me feel what you want me to feel."

"I'm not trying to-" he protested.

"Because I'm not a naïve college girl any more," she continued, indicating some of the crowd around them as if in contrast. "If I learned nothing else this past year, it's that I have to be the Slayer first, always - no matter what else I may be capable of or what I want. And anyone I'm involved with becomes a target, which makes it hard to love them."

Riley's face hardened. "So you lied to me when you told me it didn't matter that I lost my enhanced abilities," he said accusingly.

"Yes, all right, I lied!" Buffy shouted. Heads around them turned to watch and whisper. She continued at a lower volume. "Yes, I guess it was an issue. If I had to worry about protecting you, I couldn't let myself care about you. I couldn't ever be myself. I always had to be the Slayer, the strong one, and never had a chance to be just me, to be Buffy." Her voice trailed away to almost nothing. "Why shouldn't I get to be Buffy, sometimes?" she asked, more of herself than of him. With a sudden shock, she realized why this argument sounded so familiar to her ears - she had heard it before, from Spike. He was always after her to decide what she wanted for herself.

"I think - I should go-" Buffy got up awkwardly from the table.

"Buffy, please," Riley pleaded, reaching for her hand.

She drew away. "This was a mistake. Goodbye, Riley. Good luck with your new assignment," she added lamely. Mustering what self-control she could, Buffy fled from the coffeehouse.

It wasn't until she was almost home that she realized he had never answered her original question.

Spike emerged from the sewer access way into the dim light of the medical school basement level. He had chosen to arrive well before sunset to survey the area and make sure there would be no unpleasant surprises waiting for him. He trusted the former Initiative soldier about as far as he could comfortably spit a rat, but this might be his only chance to rid himself that had made his existence miserable for the past two years. _Though I can't fairly call the part about loving the Slayer misery_ , he admitted to himself. Finding nothing to arouse his suspicions in the immediate area, Spike ventured forth into the main section of the basement level.

"You're early." Riley's voice startled him out of his introspection.

"Yeah, well, trying to set a good example of punctuality, you know," Spike replied, trying to cover for his surprise. "How did you arrange all this?" he asked, indicating the echoing emptiness surrounding them.

"There are still some people to whom a uniform and the authority of the government mean something," Riley said stiffly.

"Oh yeah," Spike mocked, "right bunch of little drones, aren't you?" His humiliating retreat of that morning still irked him, so he wanted to get in as much insult as time allowed in compensation.

"Well this drone may have the solution to your problem," countered Riley, "so watch your mouth."

He led Spike into an operating theatre surrounded by banks of seats; clearly used for teaching. It was like the one - if not the very one - in which he had made the abortive attempt to have the chip dealt with once before. A variety of esoteric electronic devices surrounded the central table this time, however. Spike's gaze took in the strong restraints that had been installed on the table and he bristled. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" _Fool for love, Spike_ , he thought, in answer to his own question. _I have to try._

"You didn't really think this would be a walk in the park, did you, Spike?" Riley inquired smoothly. "That I could just hook up a couple of leads, flip a switch and make everything the way it was?" He indicated the restraints. "The only chance to disrupt the chip's function is to overload it completely; burn out its circuitry by over stimulating the corrective impulses. If you're thrashing about during all that, we may not be able to maintain optimal electrical contact - then this would all have been for nothing." Dark eyes met icy blue ones. "Still game?"

Spike rose to the challenge. "Let's do it, then." Stripping off his duster, he swung his body up onto the table and let Riley strap him down. A cap with what seemed to be hundreds of electrical contacts fit snugly over the vampire's sleek blond head, and Riley taped several others in place on his neck and arms.

"Last chance to back out," Riley offered. Spike's eyes flared contempt. He arched his head back against the table, gritted his teeth and clenched his fists by way of reply.

"Suit yourself." _Consider it payback for some of the people who've died at your hands._

Moments later, agonized screams echoed throughout the cold sterile halls. The sounds faded eventually to a hoarse bubbling wail - as though the throat that made them was shredded and bleeding - then finally to a silence even more complete and ominous than before they began.

An eternity later, Spike rolled limply from the table when the straps were released and collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor. "Unh," he cawed harshly, lifting his head. "Diddit work?" Hearing the ruin of his own voice and feeling the weakness in his limbs, it was some time before he ventured to speak or move again

Riley didn't bother to reply, but collected a stake and a crucifix from among his equipment. Spike managed to lift himself to his hands and knees. After no few minutes in this position, he hauled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the table.

Spike glanced over at Riley, who stood with his defenses ready. A predatory gleam appeared in his eyes. "You know there's only one way to find out, don't you, tin soldier?"

Riley brandished the cross in front of himself. "Don't get any stupid ideas, deadboy," he challenged.

"Oh, this is one of my better ones, I promise you," he threatened. Even before he had finished speaking, Spike was in motion, spinning faster than Riley would have thought possible after his ordeal, and kicking the cross from his hands. In the next instant, Spike was on him, carrying him down to the floor, hands about his neck. Golden eyes flashed and hunter's fangs caressed his throat. Riley marshaled his strength to throw Spike off of him, but the vampire was suddenly still.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Riley gasped.

Spike released him and sat up, recovering his human features. "Been trying to prove a point, haven't you? I don't have to help you."

Riley backed away across the cold floor. "I think that when Buffy finds out, when you do slip, she'll stake you and then it's problem solved. One less vampire to worry about."

"One less rival, you mean," Spike replied, believing he saw the light at last. "You can't really think that much of her if you plan on winning her back by eliminating the competition." He stood and went to reclaim his duster.

"You were never competition, Spike, just garbage to be disposed of. I want her to see you for what you really are!" Riley shouted at Spike's retreating back as he pushed through the swinging doors into the hall.

"Oh she will, mate." Cold laughter echoed from the walls. "And what you are."

It was the third time this week she'd come past his crypt after sunset - he'd sensed her presence every time - but this was the first time she'd ventured close to the door. He'd been avoiding her, of course, patrolling the graveyards on his own and staying out of town - out of reach of temptation. And he wanted to know if she would choose to come to him on her own.

"Spike?" Buffy called; as she eased open the heavy stone door. "Are you in here? I know you've been patrolling; I've seen the messes you've left behind. Not very considerate." She tried to keep her tone to the usual light, sarcastic banter they shared, but didn't think it was working. _As crazy as it sounds, I want to know that you're okay. I . . . miss seeing you out there, fighting with me. For me._

"Hello love. I was wondering when you would get around to checking up on me," Spike drawled from the comfort of his upholstered chair, trying to hide his emotions. _She came!_

"I wasn't checking," she protested feebly, and wondering at the roughness she could hear in his voice. "But it has been nearly a week since I saw you last-" _Hovering in my window. Tell me what's been going on. Tell me you've not become a killer again._

"Don't let's start lying to each other, pet, not after everything," he smiled sadly. "Course you were checking. And since you were wondering; no, I haven't killed anyone." He levered himself out of his chair and approached her.

 _How does he always know what I'm thinking?_ "You actually went ahead and did it, then? Turned off the chip? How - how are you managing?" Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing out of her own mouth. Asking a soulless vampire if he was finding not killing uncomfortable?

He found her concern for his well being painfully touching, but refused to let it show. "One day at a time," he replied. "I know that I can kill someone if I want to, so I don't have to - today. I can manage today. Isn't that what those poncy addiction groups always say? Next thing you know I'll be going to meetings and getting into group hugs. Vampires Anonymous - me and Soul Man, we could start the California chapter," he scoffed.

"You're really going through with this?" she asked in a whisper. "For . . . because of me?"

"Couldn't think of a better reason," he replied, taking her chin in one hand and gently brushing her lower lip with his thumb. "Why is that so hard for you to believe? That being in love with you made me grow a conscience of sorts?" He laughed at the incongruity of it. "There's this annoying little voice in my head now - sounds a lot like you, pet - that keeps saying 'Buffy wouldn't like that. It's wrong.' It's kept me honest so far, chip or no chip. Because I love you."

"But how do you know it's love?" Buffy heard herself asking the hateful question. "How can you-"

"Everything I know of love I learned from you, Buffy," he said softly. "You've been at pains to teach me since first we met, though you didn't know it. You're in my mind every minute I'm awake now, and when I sleep. Everything I see or hear is colored by what I think you'll say of it. There's a way you tilt your head when you're thinking that to me is more exquisite than a ballerina's finest moves. All of this, taken together, I've come to think of as love. But what scares me the most," he admitted, "is the thought that I suffer this feeling alone. It's not a comfortable feeling, but I'd wish the same on you.

"I'll admit the punishment is a little less tangible than with the chip," he continued, "but the thought of it is just as effective, I assure you." _The thought that I might still lose you._ "There's almost any price I'd pay, if I could hope-" He backed away suddenly, releasing her, and thrust both hands into his pockets as though to avoid any further temptation from her soft skin. "Will you answer one question honestly for me, Buffy?"

"If I can," she replied, though she trembled at the thought of what it might be. _An honest answer. I don't know if I'm that brave._

"Have I made you happy?"

Buffy blinked at this seeming non sequitur, and stumbled over her reply. "Happy? More like angry, and frustrated, and crazy-" Spike's hand over her mouth cut her off.

"No flip answers, Buffy. All I want to know is are you happier in the times that I'm with you than when I'm not? Will you tell me that much, at least?"

Even once he had slipped his hand away from her mouth, Buffy couldn't speak. Long moments passed while she looked up at him, and he never looked away. She finally had to answer, speaking in a small voice barely above a strangled whisper.

"Spike - ever since they brought me back, I've been desperately trying to learn how to feel again. How to live in the world again. When I'm with you . . . it's the only time I even feel alive," Buffy confessed, hot tears pooling in her eyes and spilling over her cheeks.

"Then why are you asking yourself any other questions?" Spike asked, leaning forward to kiss the tears from her skin, savoring their salty warmth.

"My friends-" she began.

"Don't define you. Don't own you. You can't go on sacrificing yourself to satisfy their idea of what's right for you." He drew her closer and whispered his next words into her ear. "The more you try to be 'normal', the more you hurt yourself.

"Do you believe that I can love you?" he asked, and felt her head bob convulsively in assent against his shoulder. "Then believe that I won't lie to you. They don't understand what you need - they can't, anymore. I can, because I don't belong completely to either world now myself." He drew back to fix her with an intense sapphire gaze. "I'm not all darkness, Buffy, and you're not all light - so why can't we allow ourselves to have each other in the shadows, at the last?"

Spike's words were suddenly cut off as Buffy smashed her mouth to his. She put all of her anger, fear and frustration into the kiss, bruising their lips and drawing blood. He returned it with equal ferocity. _That's it love, take it out on me. Spike's here for you now. Never leave you._ Her nails gouged his skin with marks that would take days to fade, but he just pulled her closer.

Small fingers ripped at his buttons, and he broke away from her mouth only long enough to help yank their shirts off. Two determined pairs of hands soon made short work of the rest of their clothing. Spike's hands took a bruising grip on Buffy's hips as she lifted herself to encircle his waist with her legs.

He clutched at her feverishly, and thrust eagerly into her wet heat, forcing her back against the crypt wall. If it hadn't been for the wall, he would have dropped her when Buffy suddenly sank her teeth deeply into the corded muscles of his shoulder to muffle her cries.

"Aaaah!" he exclaimed. "Biting now, love? I'll show you biting . . ." he growled. Suddenly changing, he slipped sharp fangs cleanly into her throat. The exquisite taste of her was unlike anyone he'd ever drunk from before - lust and innocence, power and fragility in equal measure. _Not too much now - but if I can have this, I'll never want anyone else._

He moved inside her with the same deliberate rhythm with which his tongue worked against the delicate skin of her neck, until Buffy found herself slipping helplessly over a precipice and down, and down again into the sweetest darkness.

 _Mingling a potion for his thirst in the sun  
Dries on your cheek the tears with perfume straying,  
My sweet opponent! languorously fordone,  
Bathed in your warm hair, love's fatigue allaying._

The stillness of burning hair, the half-won kiss  
Have saddened you, and now I hear you saying:  
"We two shall never lie embalmed as one  
Beneath the eternal sand and palm trees playing."

Yet in your warm golden hair, downward flowing,  
I find Nirvana and leave you unknowing,  
And drown unfaltering my soul, my bane;

And taste your darkened lashes smudged with tears  
And drugging the heart you pierced with joy and pain,  
Take on the hardness of these azure spheres.

It was some time later that they came back to themselves, lying on the floor amidst their scattered clothing. Buffy sprawled limply across Spike's naked chest, her legs entangled with his. He reached down and tipped her chin up to see her more clearly.

"Buffy?" he asked gently.

"I'm okay. Well, more than just okay, I think," she smiled up at him tenderly. "First time in a while." _If I can finally stop regretting what I can't have, and be grateful for what I do._

"What, only the first time? I'm hurt." He screwed his face into such a piteous expression that Buffy couldn't help herself; she laughed out loud.

"You can try to make me lose count, if you want," she offered, tilting her head to capture his mouth again, but softly this time.

"Yeah, I can do that," he murmured into the curve of her lips.

 _Throw away your papers tonight  
put aside your pen  
let your fingers  
write on my body,  
an empty page  
a word,  
a sentence,  
write a poem  
if your syntax hurts my skin  
if I sigh, if I moan  
just tighten your embrace  
if your fingers stammer  
dip them in darkness  
and start again  
fill up my margins  
suffocate me with your grammar  
proofread the madness  
you have created  
erase with your lips  
any mistakes  
your fingers make  
read to me  
what you have written  
see the pages of my life  
come alive  
in your fingers  
tonight._

Spike scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the room to place her gently on his bed. He stood back for a moment to appreciate the esthetic perfection of the setting. His Slayer - his Buffy - stretched out invitingly in his bed, wanting him, waiting for him. Seeing his ardent gaze, she smiled and shifted her body suggestively, nestling into the pillows. Spike snapped his teeth together firmly to keep his jaw from dropping. His legs weakened and he went to his knees at the foot of the bed.

"What's the matter, Spike?" Buffy teased. "Worn out already?"

"Just getting started, pet," he growled, climbing up the end of the bed and skimming cool hands along her bare legs. "Taking the time to enjoy the view - and would you look at the sweet dimpled knees of her," he said lustfully.

Buffy shivered with longing at the naked desire in his rough voice. The knees he admired so slipped apart as she welcomed him between her thighs. His fingers opened her gently, followed closely by his eager tongue. She was pinned to the bed by his weight on her legs. Her hips bucked helplessly as she found herself moving quickly to a powerful orgasm under his touch. Clenching both hands in Spike's hair, Buffy pulled him roughly upwards.

"Ow! Hey!" he protested.

"Shut up, Spike," she demanded, enforcing her command by bringing his glistening mouth down to hers. He slipped into her deeply, and Buffy's strong legs encircled his waist to hold him there. Locked together, their bodies rocked to an ever-increasing rhythm towards another climax.

 _I only imagined I loved you before now_ , he thought much later, looking up at the woman above him; her back arched and her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as her body rocked slowly on his. _Now I know it's true._ No other lover had ever drawn him to such depths and heights of both pain and pleasure. She'd marked him, both visibly and invisibly, and he would never be the same again. _It may be death to love a Slayer_ , he thought, _but nothing could make me turn back now_. Time slipped away from him again, lost in her embrace.

"Stay with me today," he whispered, kissing the curve of her ear, as dawn tinted the frosted windows above in shades of rose. "We have so much lost time to make up for."

She hated to say it, but she had to. "I can't, Spike. I have to go home before Dawn wakes up. She needs me to be there." _Got to mend some fences today._

"I need you," he protested.

"Are you saying you have more troubles than a fifteen year old girl, Spike?" she teased. "You'll be all right. And after that, I'm going to spend some quality girlfriend time with Willow and find out how she's doing. I've been neglecting our friendship for too long. We may even join Xander and Anya at the Bronze tonight," Buffy decided suddenly.

"That's not your world anymore," he said, his voice low and menacing as he clutched at her shoulders. "You belong with me."

Buffy suddenly felt as though she could see right through Spike, as though he had somehow become transparent. She could see through to all his hurts and fears, all the little twists of the heart that made him behave the way he, now did laid bare to her gaze. She didn't know where this new insight had appeared from, but welcomed it eagerly. _Maybe there are a few good things about having been dead. Okay - one good thing_. Only a few days ago, his comment would have left her trembling and uncertain. _You're afraid I won't stay with you if I can be with my friends._ It was easier to accept, now that she knew it sprang out of fear.

"I know what I am, Spike," she said firmly, pushing back from him in the bed, "and where I belong. I'm the Slayer first, and Buffy second. But the Slayer's job is to protect people like Buffy's friends. So I do belong in that world too. If I pull away from it, from them, soon I won't have any reason to defend it. And that's when I have no reason to live anymore."

Spike released her and said no more. The sudden turnabout in their roles confused him. He had always been the one whose job it was to speak all the uncomfortable truths. _When did her eyes become so wise_ , he wondered.

Buffy laughed gently at his puzzled expression. "Besides, you really need to rest up for tonight, love. I never said I wasn't coming back."

It had taken some effort, but they finally managed to find a table that had room for all five of them. Xander and Anya fetched the first round, with root beer for Dawn, and they settled in to enjoy their night out.

"This is just like old times," Willow nearly had to shout over the band playing from the Bronze's stage. "Only it's better, because these times are new!"

"Yeah, Buffster," Xander added. "It's been way too long since we've all been able to hang out together, bonding to loud music and beer. Let's hear it for beer-bonding!" he shouted, and nothing would do but that they all raise their glasses in a toast. Buffy drained hers, and took a long moment to look at her friends.

"I know I haven't been much fun to be around," Buffy admitted." I want you all to know that I'm sorry - things will be different from now on. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I've decided I really am glad to be alive again, and that I really know what I'm living for," Buffy glanced over at Dawn with a smile.

"So - you're not going away again, ever?" Dawn asked with hope.

"Nope," Buffy replied, leaning over to hug her sister with one arm. "I'll be staying right here. Where I can bug you about doing your homework, and chores, and boys," she teased. Dawn groaned and rolled her eyes.

A familiar white-haired, black-clad figure caught Buffy's attention from across the dance floor, in the shadows of the entrance. She smiled and tilted her head in invitation, then rose to meet him as he crossed the room.

"I'm glad you decided to come out tonight," she said. "Still doing okay?"

"I'm not an invalid, Buffy, thank you," he replied archly. "But if that's an offer to come take care of me . . ."

"You're not still on about that, are you Spike?" jeered Xander from the table. "In all the worlds of not-a-chance, yours has got to be the not-a-chanciest."

Buffy ignored him. "How about an offer to buy me another beer?" Deliberately, and in full view of everyone at the table, she laid one hand on Spike's cheek and raised her head to kiss him. Surreptitiously, she used her other hand to pass him a ten-dollar bill, because he was probably broke again.

Spike's arms tightened about her briefly as he returned her kiss, then he wheeled about and headed for the crowded bar. Buffy turned back to face the stunned faces and open mouths of the others at the table. Xander was the first to recover.

"Willow," he croaked accusingly, "what did you do? This is one of your spells gone wrong again, isn't it? You said no more magic."

"Xander!" Willow protested indignantly, "I haven't done anything. Tell him I haven't done anything, Buffy. But if I didn't-" her eyes widened as she looked at her friend.

"Maybe it's a curse," offered Anya.

"It's not a spell or a curse, guys. It's a choice. My choice," Buffy told them.

"Go Buffy!" squealed Dawn. Buffy smiled. She had known she could probably count on Dawn's support, since her sister had had a crush on Spike from the first time she'd met him.

"You . . . and Spike? That's just crazed, Buffy," Xander protested. "And creepy and gross, I might add."

"Why?" Buffy countered. "If it's what I want, what I need, then how is it wrong?"

"But it's _Spike_ ," cried Willow.

"Yes, it is," she replied.

"He's _evil_!"

"Will," Buffy sighed, "I've spent the last few months fighting the idea. But the world isn't black and white. Spike's done a lot of good for us, though I know it's no excuse for things he's done in the past. It's not just Slayer good, vampire bad - it never was, but it's taken me until now to see it. That's part of what was making me so crazy - that something in me needed him - and that he was everything I was supposed to hate. Except that I've changed, now, and he's changed too."

Xander couldn't let it go. "You don't mean you expect us to sit back and let you carry on this . . . abnormal relationship?"

"That's exactly what I expect, Xander. And tell me, please, what's so normal about any of the relationships the rest of you have had?" Buffy let that question hang in the air some time before she continued. "Your lives haven't exactly been ordinary since I arrived in Sunnydale. Sometimes I'm sorry that I dragged you into this weird world of mine. But mostly I'm glad to have you here with me." She reached out and squeezed their hands, one after another. "You're the best reasons I have to go on living."

Xander couldn't help himself; he had to offer one more comment. "Man, Giles would blow a gasket if he knew about any of this!"

"Well, as he left so that I would stand up and make my own decisions, I hope he would be happy for me," Buffy responded with some asperity. Then on seeing Spike wending his way back through the crowds balancing two over filled beer glasses, she added, "And don't go sniping at Spike tonight, Xander. I want all of us to have a good time."

"That _is_ how I have a good time," said Xander, under his breath. "Oh sure, defend the evil vampire. Who's going to defend me?" he asked.

"I'll defend you, sweetie," said Anya cheerfully.

"Thanks hon, I feel so much safer now. I'm having a flashback to high school - being defended by girls. At least he can't beat me up like the high school bullies could."

Buffy pressed her lips together thoughtfully. There was no reason any of them ever had to know.

"Dark beer, right?" Spike asked her as he returned to the table.

She tipped her lips up to his ear. "Dark as my desire," she whispered, for his hearing alone. Spike suddenly had trouble with the glasses.

At first on edge, Spike soon turned on the devastating charm that had so captivated Dawn. It wasn't long before she, Anya and Willow were convulsed with laughter. Buffy relaxed, and curled the fingers of one hand into his. Xander looked discomfited at this, but Buffy watched pointedly as Anya began working her fingers into a gap between the buttons of his shirt, clearly thinking no one was looking. He turned away soon after, and Buffy smiled.

The lights dimmed as the evening wore on, and the music slowed. "Come dance with me," Buffy murmured to Spike, and he trailed her out onto the dance floor, never once releasing her hand.

"My Slayer," he whispered, holding her close as they began to sway.

"Everyone's Slayer, Spike," she corrected gently. "But lover? Only yours."

He closed his eyes, satisfied.

 _Lay your sleeping head, my love,  
Human on my faithless arm;  
Time and fevers burn away  
Individual beauty from  
Thoughtful children, and the grave  
Proves the child ephemeral:  
But in my arms till break of day  
Let the living creature lie,  
Mortal, guilty, but to me  
The entirely beautiful . . ._

-  
Poems are:  
 _Untitled_ by Bhartrihari  
Excerpt from _Taking My Business Elsewhere_ by Richard Thompson  
 _Sadness of Summer_ by Stéphane Mallarmé  
 _The Poetics of Desire_ by Rina Singh  
 _Lay your sleeping head, my love_ by W.H. Auden


End file.
